Far Be it from Me
by BlueStoneArcher
Summary: The Vulcan delegation from Qo'Nos has been rescued... for the most part. The trick is getting them back to the Federation alive. Sequel to Far Away from Home, following J'Mara. OCs, ftm/f established relationship.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Welcome to the sequel of Far Away from Home! I figured it'd be time for a change of voice, so the sequel is going to be following J'Mara. Since she's not fluent in as many languages as her Vulcan bondmate, assume that conversations are being held in Klingonese (and translated for the reader's benefit), unless otherwise noted. I'll be picking up where J'Mara beamed out, around chapter twenty-two of FAFH.

Oh, and while I'm publishing the first chapter on opening night of Into the Darkness (in my area, anyway) I've already gotten the first 20k or so written... I'm not saying whether or not this story will be effected by the new movie, but at least there's no spoilers in this chapter. Ha.

Disclaimers: I don't own Star Trek, which is under the umbrellas of Roddenberry, JJ Abrams, and Paramount. The original characters, however, are my fault.

* * *

The moment J'Mara freed herself from Ka'Tra's men, she ducked below the shouting crowd and worked her way towards the chained Vulcan in the middle of the room.

Warrior's instinct and years on the battlefield kept her eyes on the hunched, green splattered figure, while her heart screamed at her to return to her husband's side. Even without their minds linked in that mystic Vulcan way, she'd read his plea in his eyes: get the Ambassador away from Chancellor Ka'Tra. The grim set of his lips, the white peaking out around the dark of his eyes. Controlled fury.

When he flung Talamak into J'Mara's captors, she took her chance.

He'd given that opportunity to her, so, she'd obey. This once. And trust that Vuron's blade held until she could get back to his side.

Metal clashed on metal behind her when she finally got to the chains. Each link as thick as two of her fingers, the metal heavy enough to drag the older Vulcan's arms and neck down. Her gloves softened the bite into her skin as she gripped and pulled, tried for all her might to dislodge the bolts connecting them to the chair. No luck. The manacles held as well, unfazed by the slick blood sliding beneath them.

"Vuron-"

"Shh," J'Mara hissed to the Ambassador. Bad enough they were within full-sight; last thing she needed was him drawing attention to themselves.

An undefeatable urge to look back at her husband took her, to check on him, to ask for ideas... Their eyes caught in an instant. She jerked her head, letting him know she couldn't get the damn shackles without help. Maybe between the two of them...

Talamak's bat'leth slammed into Vuron's shoulder; J'Mara cringed at Vuron's curse and turned back to the task.

_You know better than to distract him. Get the job done, then rescue his lilly-green ass._

The Ambassador's shivering, naked body drew a thought of pity. She quickly untied the lashes of her cloak and slung it around his bare, thin shoulders.

She glanced around, desperate to find a blade, a fork, something.

_If I can just get him loose, I can-_

The idea struck with a quick viciousness.

J'Mara dug into her left gauntlet and extracted the little emergency transmitter. She broke the small glass seal, setting it to relay her personal distress signal to all of her ships in the area. Considering she'd recalled three ships to get Vuron's people free, one was guaranteed to act soon.

"Ambassador, this will get you out," she whispered with a growl.

"No, I need to-"

J'Mara snarled at him, clutched his jaw in her fist and shoved the bug-sized transmitter deep into the old man's mouth, forcing him to swallow it.

"Don't argue," she hissed. "My men'll take you home safe-"

A familiar light surrounded her.

In a moment, J'Mara knew two things. First, one of her captains was very alert, the delay between breaking that seal and beam up was miniscule. She didn't have time, even, to leap out of range of the beam.

Second, in all likelihood, she no longer had a husband.

Her eyes tracked instinctively to him.

Vuron saw her. So did Lord Talamak.

He threw his weapon aside and grabbed the big Klingon councilman's head in his hands. Dragged Talamak's eyes away from the dais.

As Ka'Tra's hall dissolved before her eyes, the last thing she saw was some nameless, low-ranking guard thrusting a spear into her husband's back.

An odd, relaxed expression took over his face as he fell to his knees.

There, and gone, in an instant.

The dim, comfortable light of one of her transporter rooms took over her senses. Trusted officers bent to get her off of her knees. Her medic already at her side.

_Gurth,_ she noted in a daze. _Means the _TlhopDaq yIt_ responded first. Captain Ha' tIchev will need to be commended for quick action and vigilance._

"Take care of the Vulcan first," she grumbled. Hot spots along her cheek, her ribs, told her she had some deep bone bruises. Nothing that needed treating. Bloodwine, maybe. Ice, definitely. "Where's my captain?"

"Dealing with some very erm... uncooperative Vulcans up on the bridge." The doctor, a grey-haired man, eyed the Ambassador. _Nice of him to be delicate, at least._

"Got everyone from the house?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Take him to the med bay. I'll be down for some painkillers later."

Gurth grinned and waved a hypospray. "Already have some. Figured any time with these smoothfaces will cause a headache even among the greatest of us."

He pressed the spray to her neck. A cooling sensation radiated outward. Fast. Clearly not just a headache remedy.

"My thanks. Go on. Take him out."

The underlings passed a few glances about, but they hustled the ambassador out the door without further argument.

J'Mara waited a moment, then rushed to the control panel. After several minutes of desperately trying to lock onto Vuron's signature, she gave into the futility of it. Either there were just too many people in too close an area, or...

Or his life signs were too weak, or non-existent.

The roar of grief tugged at her throat.

Pain ripping at her. Demanding a voice.

J'Mara closed her eyes and swallowed down the impulse.

They'd been joined for what, only two weeks? Hell, they hadn't even gone through the proper ceremonies for...

J'Mara rubbed the bare skin, just above her breasts, that her armor did not cover. The ache there decidedly nasty, and not something Gurth's concoction touched.

_Get the Ambassador to safety_, she reminded herself. Vuron's last request. Silent, yet so clear.

Or had it been? That last look... the soft curve of his eyes, the slight upturn of his lips. Had he been... smiling? At the end?

_ Kahless. You'd think me a weak thing, if you knew my thoughts right now._

_A weak thing that craves the touch of my husband... my husband's mind. Just one touch? Some reassurance that that spear did not end him._

But that emptiness echoed on and on. Just her mind, circling around that hole like a vulture.

J'Mara scrubbed her face hard, forced her mind on the current issue.

Ka'Tra'd be looking for her soon. Now that she'd stolen the prize right from under him.

Knowing the lazy bastard, he'd contact Bel'tath first. Find out who transported them up; get the ship's signature. Bribe the "right people" to get the destination.

Too bad for him, these were _her_ people, not Bel'tath's.

That didn't mean, however, that he wasn't without avenue.

J'Mara slammed a fist into the control panel.

Sparks flew around her. Shattered glass sliced past leather and metal, imbedded in muscle, dug into bone.

A snarl slipped out.

Pain radiating out.

Over and over.

So all encompassing. So...

She smashed her browridge against the edge of the console. Gave the keening pain voice here, where none heard. None to witness how completely she'd lost... how desperately she needed... how fully she had loved an honorless, smooth-faced, lilly-green, piece of targ...

Her fists clenched against the shards of glass. The sharp throbbing a relief for...

"General?"

She stumbled back. Slammed her bleeding fist against the comm panel.

"Yes."

"There was a surge of the control panel. Engine room called up; the transporter is-"

"Shut it. I'll be up in a minute. They can send a repair crew then."

"Yes, General."

The comm panel went dark.

She indulged in another moment of solitude before the siren call of duty made her swipe her eyes, one last time, and head for the bridge.


	2. Chapter 2

The Vulcans avoided her. Studiously did not see the moisture in her eyes. The flare of muscles in her jaw. Her clenched, bleeding fists.

Her officers, however, _saw_. Seasoned men and women; she'd have no other on these barges. Knew grief in the face of another, just as they often saw it in their own reflections. Knew the loss of bothers and sisters of the bat'leth.

She returned their salutes. Squared her shoulders.

They offered service. Loyalty. Duty.

General J'Mara, of the house of Bel'tath, accepted these offerings.

To do less held no honor.

"Are the _Lomqa' _ and _SoSoy QaQ_ with us?" she asked _TlhopDaq yIt's _captain without preamble. Filling the silence that her entrance caused.

Ha' tIchev, a seasoned captain who'd lost his own share of men over his thirty years of service, gave her a long, thoughtful glance before tapping the comm position's shoulder. Nearly two-thirds of his service with her emblem on his collar. Twenty years... and he certainly wasn't the only one to boast a few decades with her.

"The _SoSoy QaQ _is alongside, two kilometers. _Lomqa' _is pulling into orbit."

The captain nodded his thanks to the crewman and turned back to her for orders.

Quite suddenly, J'Mara felt every one of her own forty years in service. Perhaps a few more as well.

"Orders?"

"Cloak," J'Mara said without thought.

A single raised finger and the bridge hummed and the lights dimmed.

"We are prepared, my lady."

"Prepared?" J'Mara looked up at Ha' tIchev. The steel in his eyes. His clenched fist over the handle of his disruptor pistol. "Prepared for what?"

"For war."

"I must protest!" All eyes flicked over to the old Vulcan healer, leaning against her assistant's elbow. "We can not in good conscious allow you to go to war over some perceived slight-"

The captain's growl stopped her.

"She's been griping ever since we picked them up. Are they all like this?"

"Very nearly," J'Mara sighed. "But I agree with her. We do not go to war. Not today, anyway. Not with innocent civilians on board."

"At least a few... well aimed torpedos? If they're still in that building, it would be my pleasure to wipe that conceded grin off of the face of our planet."

"If Ambassador Sranak were alive, he would do everything within his power to keep your people to falling into political chaos once again. Even though such... civil discourse seems to be your... people's normal mode of existence."

"Your Ambassador is quite alive," Gurth called as he strode down the long hallway to the bridge. The doctor wiped his hands on a white towel, already stained with large splatters of green. He rattled off all the injuries with his usual disinterest. Settling at J'Mara's side, glancing at her hands without intending to be witnessed. "Beat up within an inch of his life. Nearly exsanguinated, thanks to Ka'Tra's little cuts." He turned to the Vulcan healer. "Not that he'd tell me, but I have a feeling he'd prefer _you_ to to be looking after him."

The Vulcan woman's eyes took in her doctor, then J'Mara herself.

"You... you rescued him. Sranak."

"Yes."

"Then, where is Altern Vuron?"

J'Mara closed her eyes.

"Ah. I see."

_At least I don't have to spell it out._ "My husband died with honor, doing his duty." She turned to include Captain Ha' tIchev. "His last commitment was to get his ambassador, his people, to safety. We honor that. Set a course for Terra Prime. I want _Lomqa'_ and _SoSoy QaQ _in Ell phalanx formation. When Ka'Tra realizes what we've planned, we need to expect retaliation."

"Speed?"

J'Mara gave it a moment's consideration. The _TlhopDaq yIt_'s top speed was a couple factors above the other two ships, and _Lomqa'_ had a noisy subspace emitter.

"Keep it to warp three. I don't want to leave any ripples they can follow. Order the formation, cloaked impulse until we're outside planetary defense sensor range."

"Aye, General. You heard her! Get your asses into gear."

"I'll be in my quarters."

"No, you won't, General." Gurth corrected. "I'll release you, after I treat your hands. If you leave them to fester, you won't be able to hold your blade, let alone a disruptor pistol. And you," he glared over at the Vulcans. "Are either going to the medbay, or your quarters. We don't need you in the way up here."

Captain and doctor shared a companionable nod.

"Off you," Ha' tIchev shooed the gaggle of Vulcans off.

"The servants don't know our tongue," J'Mara told him. She turned to T'Sai. "Have you been shown your quarters?"

"Yes." She turned to the rest and a string of incomprehensible notes flowed from her lips. They split, leaving her assistant, and another slim, tall, emotionless cur at her side.

"How did he die?" T'Sai asked in a rude whisper.

J'Mara marched past the two healers.

Their quiet footfalls followed at a distance. Echoed away as she charged into the medbay. Startled a young apprentice. Shoved him out of the way to get over to the fresh water cleansers Doctor Gurth insisted on. Watched her dark red blood swirling around the drain.

"Vuron took a spear, through the heart," she answered, without turning to face them, when she heard the door open behind her. "He was distracting Ka'Tra's men while I figured out a way to set Sranak loose. Does that serve answer enough for you?"

"I do not pretend to understand all of the political implications of his actions," T'Sai said. Her voice growing steadily louder as her slippered feet whispered closer. "But... I thank you, on Ambassador Sranak's behalf. On the behalf of all your combined efforts have saved."

J'Mara straightened her spine and shook loose the water and grabbed one of the neatly folded towels before the blood started welling up again.

"Empty words, T'Sai. But your people seem skilled at that. You've got your ambassador. What do I have? I can't even stand vigil over him. I've got nothing to bury. Nothing but memories now."

A slight twitch pulled her lips. Almost a frown.

She motioned to her assistant, who held up that damn medical bag of hers so she could dig through it.

T'Sai held out a small, sealed parcel.

J'Mara took the offering with a questioning tilt of her eyebrow.

"The... previously amputated flesh. It is not much, but it is his."

_His ears._

J'Mara's fists closed over it. Fresh pain washed over her.

The memory of holding his hands while his doctor sliced away the flesh. Only hours before. It felt like days ago. Weeks.

And now.

Now.

Now her fingers would never feel the kiss of his again. Never feel the strength in those long, nimble digits.

"I thank you," she growled out. "Now get to the man. I don't want him bleeding out or wasting away after my husband gave his life to save him."

"Yes, General."

"I've put him back there," Gurth stepped up. "In one of the private rooms. HaSta? Show her the way, will you? He's seen enough of me. Get her whatever supplies she needs."

They waited a moment, while the Vulcans shuffled past.

Gurth took the packet from her slack hands.

"Come. Got another empty room on the other side."

J'Mara barely noticed him opening the cyroseal, looking inside. He closed it again, set it on a wheeled table, and gestured for her to take a seat.

"So. You found yourself a husband."

"Lost him too. Probably set a record for shortest marriage on Qo'noS."

"Oh, don't be so sure. I heard this one pair of men who'd... doubt you want to hear that joke right about now, hm? Give me your hands. You never did a proper job cleaning out wounds."

He divested her of her armor, leaving her standing in just her thin woolen underclothes. Gurth scrubbed and plucked out bits of glass and circuitry.

"Must have been something. Never heard you even considering taking up with someone."

"He was my match. My mate, in every sense of the term."

"Should I be running additional tests, past searching for those broken ribs I can tell you're suffering from?"

J'Mara snarled at him.

"No use hiding it. And all it takes is a few minutes under the bone mender. You've benefited enough from it over the years."

"You're just lucky I gutted it from that Federation ship we took a decade ago."

"I've heard they've had some marvelous upgrades sense then. Maybe after we bring these curs in, we do some raid runs on the way back to Empire space?"

"They'll owe us enough for bringing their officials back. Might as well make use of the good intentions and trade for them. Make up a list. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, General. Now. To that question you evaded."

"I took a couple hits to the head. Shoulder's a little stiff too. Might have some frostbite in the toes."

"That's not the question I meant, and you know it." Gurth put away his cleaning utensils and pulled out a Federation tricorder, the little handheld wand pointed directly at her middle. She shoved his hand aside with a frustrated huff.

"You don't need to check that. Stick to mending the ribs."

"What? Didn't have time to consummate your ceremony?" He teased.

"Hardly a ceremony," she sighed, when he finally started scanning the right areas. "But plenty of consummation. Got any bloodwine? That headache remedy you pumped in me is wearing off."

He frowned but promised to get her a mug, once he'd finished his scans.

"I told him I'd bare his children."

A smirk tugged at the doctor's lips. "That sounds more like you. Declared it, just like that too, I bet."

"Mm. And now, all that's left of him is... in that."

Gurth glanced over at the small metal and glass container.

"It's enough."

"No, it's not! I don't want some token memorial. I want a warm body in bed with me. I want a blade held up in my defense when I'm unable to hold my own. Not just... two lumps of flesh."

"That's not what I meant."

Gurth set down the medical scanner, leaned his palms against the table.

"So, what did you mean, oh cryptic sage?"

"I meant, it's enough. There's enough tissue, though I'd rather try the blood first, while it's still viable. The cooling cycle hasn't lysed the cell walls yet, but theres already been some freeze damage."

"What are you talking about."

"A legacy, my dear General. If that is something that interests you."

"As in..."

Gurth's soft, lined face pulled into a warm smile. "As in, a drop of blood in the right place, and he'll still have a son, or daughter. It's not the same warm body, but much better than a token memorial, hm?"

J'Mara threw her arms around the old man's neck, hiding her tears in his thick mane of hair.

"Tell no one," she choke out, after a time.

"Of what? A few joyful tears? Hardly shameful."

J'Mara laughed and wiped her face. "Bah. I've cried plenty of times on the battlefield. Blood in the eyes always does it to me."

"I'll keep the, ah, possibility to myself as well," he said, with a tap to the cyrocase. "Otherwise your whole fleet is going to be abandoning their posts to protect you."

"Ha! You've got the right of it. And who knows what those backwards Vulcans do with their kids. Last thing I need is one of them coming in to claim rights by bloodline."

Gurth nodded. "So, _now_ may I mend your ribs? Or am I going to have to wait for a punctured lung?"

"No, do it. I just wish the darn thing didn't leave me so sore and tired afterward."

"Maybe slowing you down is a good idea, hm? Could be those soft hoo-mans actually had a good idea with that one. Running into battle with barely healed bones is just asking to have them broke again."

J'Mara stretched out on the examination table and relaxed under Gurth's ministrations. The incessant hum and bright lights of the human's technology a stark contrast to the comfortable dim lights and darkness of the native tools.

For all of her complaining, she'd made use of more Federation tech than most; utilizing the enemy's gadgets made many an ally look at her askance, but truthfully, they cut down in healing time, and greater likelihood of getting a trained warrior back on his feet... well, better to die with honor on the battlefield, rather than from some blood poisoning thanks to a wound going sour. Every new bit of tech she'd procured over the years brought that devilish gleam to her Science Caste's eyes, though the merits of a _happy_ healer were debatable.

Occasionally Gurth lifted an arm, or had her rotate to get better access.

"So... when you said there had been some freeze damage..." J'Mara prompted, as he ran the bone knitter over the hairline fractures at her cheek and temple.

"I mean, today. I can extract the blood now, if you're ready."

"Does it mean I can't have that bloodwine you promised me?"

He smiled. "Tonight is fine, but you will have to stop after that. Don't know what the alcohol would do to Vulcan biology."

"Ha. Of course. He tortures me from the grave. Go ahead, do it quick before I change my mind."

"Well, by the time you changed your mind, I'd have to do more complicated DNA extraction than we have the tools for on the _TlhopDaq yIt_."

"Then get to work, man. I don't my one chance lost to freezer burn."

He grinned and turned his back on her to concentrate on... whatever it was the Science Caste did when they were concentrating on their work.

She stared up at the bare, green caked ceiling. Not for the first time, she tried to pick out images in the oxidization. Sometimes, when they nearly tied her down to keep her still long enough to ply their craft, she daydreamed about scratching images into the corrosion. Make something interesting to look at while stuck belly-up like this.

"Transporter, or baster?"

"...what?"

"Gotta get his genetics in there somehow."

J'Mara rubbed the bridge of her nose and opened her hand for the baster. "No offense, but I don't wanna be thinking about your ugly mug whenever I look in my baby's face."

"Heh, can't blame ya for that. Just stick it... you know, and press the button."

J'Mara eyed the few droplets of green. "Just... his blood?"

"Yup. Amazing how little it takes. Your body'll take care of the rest."

_When I told Vuron about Klingon adaptability, I didn't realize how accurate I was._

"I'll give ya some privacy. Go get that bloodwine you wanted."

"Thanks."

She listened for the sound of the door closing behind Gurth.

"Well, my dear," she said to the stupid baster. "We had two weeks. I tasted your blade, your love. I armored you, fed you, led you to your... I don't even have an image of you, and since your planet's been blown to the wrong side of a black hole, and my people are at war with your allies, I doubt I'll find one. This might be rash, but... we would have done it eventually. I wanted- I want to see a young you looking up at me with love. Guide our little one through all we can, and support him when we can't. At least now I'll have more than your ears, hm?"

_Get it done, General. Talking about it never makes it easier... and the good Doctor will be back soon enough. If he finds you talking to that thing, he's going to want to do a psyche evaluation._

She twitched in discomfort, but it was over in a moment.

She was washing her hands again when Gurth returned.

"All done?"

"Mm."

"Here then, you probably need it."

She accepted the offered mug with a grateful groan.

"So... it's guaranteed to work?"

"You have as good a chance as the real thing. That scan earlier show'd you're ah... receptive, at the moment."

She groaned again. A lot less _grateful_ this time. "Remember how I said I was going to trade for more Federation Med Tech? Yeah. They tell you too much, and you're already a nosey bastard. You'll be lucky if I get you splints and clean cotton."

Gurth chuckled over the empty threat.

"I changed my mind. That's your last bloodwine until you finish breastfeeding!"

"Breastfeeding?" she asked after a long draw from the mug. "You really are getting pushy, old man."

"Someone has to. Remember, I just met my first great-granddaughter last year. I know what I'm doing." He patted her off shoulder, gave it a little squeeze. "Go easy for a few weeks. Low stress. Good food. Lots of sleep. We want the odds stacked in our favor."

"Alright, alright."

"Because if something goes wrong a month from now, Kahless, even a week from now, I can't guarantee a second attempt will work."

"Gurth. I hear you. No need to stress me, right?"

"Right. Sorry. It's just... you're only a couple years younger than my youngest daughter."

"Alright. Enough. I'm going to get enough people pandering to me as it is. No more soft stuff." J'Mara downed the rest of the bloodwine and grimaced at the taste.

"No good?"

"Eh. Guess I'm just in the mood for something... tart." _Bitter. Like that damn Vulcan tea._


	3. Chapter 3

Doctor T'Sai did not allow her to enter the room to check on Sranak, when Gurth finally released her. Fatigue tugged at her joints, and freshly fused bones, as she made her way to the bridge.

Ha' tIchev passed her several tablets the moment she leaned against his seat.

"Current status reports on all three ships, General," he stated. J'Mara smiled into them, glad for the routine. She flicked through data, only half seeing most of it. Nothing out of the ordinary. And as long as the Chancellor's ships didn't pick up _Lomqa's_ faulty transmitter, delivering the Ambassador held as much danger as a delivery run for gagh.

"Good job, Captain. Open up the phalanx as we pass the Illurium cluster. If I remember rightly, that binary system is going through some phase imbalances. Last thing we need is a solar flare bouncing off our deflectors and lighting up subspace sensors like a bonfire."

He pressed a few switches on his console, then relayed the orders down the chain.

"Done, ma'am. Further orders?"

A slight shiver gripped her shoulders. "Ship's ambient temperature?"

"Standard," he replied, trying not to be obvious about eyeing her. "Should I have it adjusted?"

_Also known as, "Are you alright?" without asking it._

"Yes. Our thin-skinned guests come from a desert planet. Raise it by 15J; we might be sweating in an hour, but it isn't polite to deliver Vulcan-icles."

Her captain grinned and had the order relayed down to the engine room.

"Truth be told, I'll be glad for a little warmth too. Damn blizzards took the capitol before we left."

"Ha. No wonder I stay on the ship. Keep those damn wet winters."

J'Mara tapped the back the tablets. "To each his own, Captain. I've had enough space battles to last me quite a while. It's nice being able to wield a disruptor without worrying about blasting a hole through a hull. My room still free, or have you taken it over?"

"Just as you left it, ma'am."

"Thank you, Ha 'tIchev. I'm going to finish studying these. Can you free up a communications officer? I have some transmissions to take care of in my quarters."

"I'll see it done, General."

"Good. Qapla.'"

"Qapla' Captain."

He caught her wrist as she turned to leave, gave it a gentle squeeze. As much comfort as the old warrior was willing to give in front of his people. J'Mara returned the gesture with a punch to the shoulder.

Another luxury of her station, each of her battle cruisers kept a room for her use. Not a common accommodation, with precious little space on many ships, but considering maneuvers that needed planning, or potential military secrets that might be passed to her, she needed to have the guarantee of space. Private. Secure.

As the doors closed behind her, the vents kicked on. A blast of hot air, straight from the engine's cooling units. J'Mara sighed as the breeze ruffled her hair.

Gurth'd had her armor sent in before her. Leather and metal stretched out on it's rack to air out.

Her thumb rubbed a dry green splatter. Probably Sranak's but...

J'Mara hit the panel next to the door. "Comm room?"

"Yes, General? How can I relay your message?"

"Down to the chef, please."

"A minute, ma'am."

J'Mara had less to wait. "General?"

"Food. Whatever is fresh and hot. If it's not moving, I don't want it on my plate. And some bl- water. Damn it. Just make that hot too."

"...yes, ma'am. It'll be a little while. We were just getting set to prepare for the morning meal."

J'Mara closed her eyes in frustration. Of course, she hadn't even checked to see what the ships chronometer was set to.

"No need to rush on my account. Or make anything special. Just what the men are getting. And... if you can spare someone, my armor and weapons need a good clean and polish."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll send someone up right away."

"J'Mara out."

She sat at her long desk, doing her best to read the documents readied for her, instead of wondering if Vuron's blood had sprayed far enough...

The computer whistled, requesting entrance.

"Come."

A couple young crewmen, only one of whom she recognized, entered. Saluted just this side of the doorway. She nodded in acknowledgment.

"The armor," she pointed towards it. "If it comes back looking like yours, you're on matter reclamation duty for the duration. Dismissed."

They hustled. Gathered. Dropped.

J'Mara growled, half-heartedly. They collected the dropped metal and met the door just as another whistle announced another visiter.

"Come!"

A much more welcome sight, the chef herself, with a large platter balanced on one hand. She had to lift it well over the heads of the two bumbling ensigns to keep her goods from coloring the floor.

"Get the good polish from the kitchen stores," she shouted after them. "Good for nothing ensigns. Were we ever that young?"

J'Mara pasted on a thin smile. "Never, Tev'a. We were born weary old souls who need our food pre-chewed and our swords sharpened by others."

"You? Never. If I pre-chewed your food, you'd just spit it in my face."

Tev'a slid a spot clear on the table and spread out a meal fit for six.

"Not a bit of it moving."

"Well, you didn't give us enough time at dock. And who's to blame for that, hm? Rush here, rush there, rescue our commander, rush into the heart of enemy territory."

As she puttered, J'Mara smirked at the completely obvious way the other woman set two places to eat, two cups, two pitchers.

"Care to join me?"

"Why, General! So kind of you to offer."

"Don't think I had much of a choice," she grumbled as the chef poured water for her, and bloodwine for herself.

"So, J'Mara. Dish."

"Dish, huh?"

"Mmhmm," the chef speared a grilled hunk of meat with her dagger. "You can start with the official stuff. Like why we've got those smooth-faces on board. Better yet, what, by Stovokor am I supposed to feed them? Their cook's already been in my territory. If his nose went any higher, I'd be looking him in the brain instead of the eyes."

"He didn't tell you?"

She snorted a laugh. "Can't even speak a proper language, you ask me."

"Their pilots can, their doctor, the ambassador."

"Let's hope I don't have much opportunity to get yelled at my that one."

J'Mara nodded. "They're vegetarians."

Tev'a flinched. "Damn offworlders. Well, I've got water and bloodwine for them at least."

"They don't drink." _Vuron did._

"Anything?"

"Water, tea." J'Mara shrugged.

"How long until we get them back to their people, then?"

She tugged one of the tablets back into view, thumbed up and down. "We'll have to stop someplace, do a little trading. Their man's been through the wringer. The servants've been fed recently, but if we starve off the Ambassador while rescuing him, I'll never hear the end of it from..." she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

"I've got some contacts," Tev'a suggested. "I'll see if we can meet someone along the way. Don't want to hold us up."

"Good. Take suggestions straight to Ha' tIchev. Between the two of you, I'm sure we'll be stocked properly."

"Think I can order a bit of fresh gagh while I'm at it?"

J'Mara offered a weak grin. "You've got my requisition number. Use it while my accounts are still active."

"I suppose you've been spoiled, last few years on land. Fresh targ, fresh gagh."

"Fresh water," J'Mara added, lifting her cup in salute.

"You'll forget that recycled water tastes like shit soon enough. Always does."

They chuckled.

"See if you can take on a couple tanks of fresh while you're at it. Vulcan noses might be dull, but mine works just fine."

"You saying I stink?"

"I'm saying this ship's filters need changing."

"Bully for that," Tev'a tipped her cup.

They ate in silence, until Tev'a finally worked up the nerve to ask, "So you really married one of them?" J'Mara grimaced. "Sorry. News travels fast, even on a seasoned ship. Come. Tell old Tev'a."

"And have the whole ship know every detail before the chronometer turns over?"

"Bah. Have I ever done that to you? Did I tell about that girl you had a crush on, back when you were a lowly commander and I was a scrubber girl? Or when you borrowed our captain's-"

"Yes, yes, alright, point taken. Last thing I need to think about right now is all my past embarrassments."

So, they talked. The food cooled. It hurt. Telling her old friend about the ridiculousness of how they'd met, how she'd assumed he was a spy or an assassin. Their fight over the span of several days. The majesty of a battle equally matched, points scored not in killing blows but in how much clothing they'd snipped from one another. Even in his borrowed, ill-fitting armor he'd been a sight to behold. Just a few hairs taller than her, his additional reach and leverage barely noticeable, even as his great strength began to weaken with fever.

And then... how she'd known him, known all of him with a touch. And how his mind had whispered across hers, when he finally fell. Trying to describe the mind meld at all... Kahless. How does one talk about such things? Being open and knowing someone as well as you know yourself. Perhaps better.

The whole affair felt like a dream. Unreal. Too wonderful, too strange.

J'Mara found herself pinching the bridge of her nose; the pain centering herself, chasing away the rest of the aches. Rather, attempting to.

"You're holding your middle," Tev'a finally said.

"Ugh. Broken ribs. Gurth set his damn bone knitter to it. Whole side is aching now."

"And here I am, keeping you up with new hurts. I'll go make sure they've got the rest of that green blood off your armor. You get some sleep. I'll make sure no one bothers you."

"Gonna put a guard on the door?"

"If I have to!" Tev'a grinned and wrapped J'Mara in a long, tight hug. "Feel better for talking, at least?"

She grunted an agreement. "I'll survive."

"Didn't doubt that for a minute."

After another couple hours going over reports and calling back and forth between the rest of her ships in this sector, she finally gave in to the exhaustion and the aches in her skull and body. The additional warmth being pumped into her room soothed the residual ache from the blizzard, if little else.

She stripped off her woolen underarmor and eyed the bare pallet. Her hands clenched into fists; ached for the soft warmth of her furs.

_But a warrior doesn't need soothing things like furs and fires. She toughens her body with her spartan living. Fortifies her soul with good battles and good liquor._

J'Mara shook the last couple drops of Tev'a's mug into her open mouth. Savored the last taste of bloodwine she'd have... for a while. If all went well.

She rubbed her palms into her eyesockets. Aware of the tender new skin under the bandages Gurth insisted on.

_Just sleep. You've been up long enough._

_ Yeah, and how likely are you going to be able to relax enough for that?_


	4. Chapter 4

Apparently, very likely.

The moment she stretched out, her mind shut down faster than she could knock an apprentice on his ass.

Warm darkness enveloped her mind. Thick furs from her bed.

_Where am..._

_Mm. Training hall_, she realized with a relaxed sigh.

She'd given up the sensation of _home_ when she reached the age of majority and enlisted. At seven, _home_ was _mother_ and _father_ and their hold in the foothills of the mountain. At eight, _home_ was her training barracks. At nine, she'd unrolled her sleeping mat on ten different continents and two different ships.

This training hall, her sabbatical from the politics that came with her position as a general in Bel'tath's army, wasn't _quite_ home, but it was close.

_Home_, now, rested in the dark of her husband's eyes. In the open acceptance, the piercing curiosity, the strength of his hands.

At the thought of him whom she loved, she realized the slight warmth was wrapped around her side. Cold feet tucked against hers.

_Vuron..._

She wanted to groan. To shove away those damn cold feet. Complain that he was just sucking out all of her body heat. Perhaps tease him that maybe _this_ was the only reason he bonded with her.

She flipped over, leaned up on her elbows. Mouth open, ready to dig into him... but there's something in his eyes. Confusion. A lost look.

_Tell me..._

Vuron had something on his mind. Something he needed to tell her. But... he wasn't there. She should be able to just _know_ whatever it was!

His dark eyes glanced away. Listening to something. Something her ears couldn't pick up.

_You must... hear._

_Hear what, my love?_

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, trying to keep his attention on her.

_You must hear..._

His voice, his internal voice, echoed through a dark hallway. Echoed on and on.

Her room flickered around them, slipping away. The dimensions of the room dissolving, then stretching out. Not her room, but the hall, except-

No, his hall. Not hers. Strange weapons and ornaments dotted the room. Only slightly familiar. Memories of memories.

She clutched him tighter. His eyes drifting closed. His body slack.

_The ships, you need to..._

_ What is it? What about the ships? Who's ships?_

She shook him. Fingernails biting into the hard planes of his muscles. He frowned. Truly frowned. His body twisted in a convulsion. Pain.

_I am here,_ J'Mara vowed. _Hold on._

Her husband's lips pulled back in a rictus of pain. His fingers clutched at her hands.

His head shook back and forth. He clung to her. J'Mara held on. Shook him. Tried to drag him out of whatever miasma captured him.

His eyes fluttered open, one last time, his lips dragged open in a silent scream.

J'Mara's dark ceiling greeted her eyes.

It took her several long minutes to realize she was staring at the corroded metal of a ship, rather than the wooden beams of her hall. Such a strange dream.

She reached across the hard pallet; Vuron'd want to hear about it. Maybe his Vulcan voodoo might make sense of it all.

But her hand found only more open air. _Where is-_

And then, she woke up enough to remember just where her husband was.

* * *

When the ensigns finally braved the trip back to her room, they found the wall pockmarked with dents, the desk overturned, the computer console ripped from its brackets, and a brooding general staring out into nothing.

"You've got the little people scared stiff, you know," Doctor Gurth said, when he'd been called in by the captain an hour later, when the state of her room finally ran up the rumor mill to the top.

"That's what high ranking military is for," J'Mara grumbled.

"You aren't one to rule through fear. You rule through..."

"What? _Motherly_ instincts?" she spat.

Gurth chuckled. He righted a chair and took a seat. "Not a word I'd use. More like a teacher's instincts. You push where needs pushing, challenge those that need it, and instruct those too dim to get the message in the first place. Your captains respect you, not fear you."

"Only one of the Science Caste could say that without an insult on his tongue. How're the Vulcans doing?"

"Belly aching. It's too cold. They want vegetables. Why doesn't the ship have the simplest replicators. Rooms too small. Too dark. My technology won't serve. Where's the hot tea. I need an auto-suture. I need fresh water. Do they do anything but whine?"

"Plenty."

"Want to tell me what made you destroy your room?"

"Not particularly."

Gurth tried to egg her into motion for a while longer, with no success.

J'Mara kept circling around the dream. She wasn't one to assign meaning where none was to be had but hell, she was mated to a telepathic species! If anyone could send a message across the reach, it'd be her husband.

But why _that_ message?

_Ships._ He'd been focused on ships. How many had there been? Her ships? Someone else's?

Eventually, Gurth left.

A gnawing at her belly prodded her up at last. She tugged on her underthings and felt some comfort in her freshly cleaned armor. They'd done a good job. Not even the trace of scent left behind.

She stroked the rolled edge of her pauldrons thoughtfully before shoving all the morose conundrums away. At least for the moment.

She'd slept well past the evening meal. Even Tev'a had abandoned her post in the middle of the night.

J'Mara dug through the open barrels until she found enough salted meat to sate the current hunger.

_Tev'a hadn't been exaggerating, hm? If I look up Ha' tIchev's records, I'll bet a bar of latinum the fool was already heading back to Qo'noS to restock. Let's just hope we've enough dilithium to make it to Terra Prime and back._

_ Perhaps a refueling stop, along with getting some food stores. _

_ We're going slow enough, might as well be prepared._

She ate, drank putrid recycled water, and aimed her feet for the bridge.

Dark hall led to dark hall. J'Mara punched the comm panel and blinked at the Vulcan who answered it.

The short woman blinked owlishly up at her, then disappeared into the darkness of the quarters.

_How in Stovokor did I end up here and not the bridge?_

"General J'Mara?"

"T'Sai, my apologies, I wasn't-"

"There is no need to be concerned, General. Please, come in."

J'Mara didn't stare at the assembled cluster before her, but they offered no such curtsey in return.

"I'm sorry to have woken everyone."

T'Sai waved the social nicety away. "Vulcans do not need as much sleep as Klingons. We find meditation to be more restorative."

J'Mara nodded. "Vuron often slipped out of bed early to... well. The Ambassador," she jumped topics. "How is he?"

"Ambassador Sranak recovers in privacy. Thanks to you."

"Thanks to his security officer," J'Mara corrected none-too-gently. "May I have a word with you? In private?"

"Such as I can offer. Please." T'Sai gestured and the servants fluttered to the far side of the room, leaving T'Sai with a couple chairs to choose from. J'Mara took one opposite, after a long moment's hesitation.

"Your needs?"

"Are being seen to, as best your people can manage."

_Such a change from the prickly woman. _

"Tev'a is planning a stop, to fill the mess. Perhaps your chef can go with her? Make sure we trade for the correct items?"

"The offer is accepted, General. What your chef prepared was... unacceptable."

J'Mara nodded her agreement. Gnawed her lip, trying to figure out a way to phrase a potential goose chase.

"You have further questions?"

"Do Vulcans dream?"

"Unless they are ill, or suffering from exterior forces, as a rule, no."

J'Mara took a deep, fortifying breath. "Klingons do. Quite vividly, sometimes. There are many who believe that these dreams can hold meaning. Some say, it is spirits, our ancestors or Kahless, trying to guide us. Others say it is our subconscious minds, churning away information while we sleep, or accentuating some bit of information our waking mind missed."

"An interesting topic, but I do not understand how I can help."

"I dreamed of Vuron last night. He was trying to tell me something. Something about ships. Since we were... bonded, the Vulcan way, I can't stop thinking that maybe he's trying to tell me something."

"You saw him die, General."

"He died honorably, Doctor. He's in Stovokor. If there's something he's trying to tell me, I need to know what it is. Is there a way to... clarify the message?"

T'Sai sighed and studied the linked hands resting in her lap. "The probability that Vuron is 'trying to tell you something' from the grave is so improbable as to be impossible, General. Perhaps your earlier assumption, that your subconscious is trying to process information is more correct? Sranak has been reticent about the circumstances of his rescue. He said, simply, that Altern Vuron distracted the councilmen. What happened, General?"

J'Mara frowned. _I've relayed this often enough._ But, years of military service held; how often had she been debriefed, over and over, until the higher ups'd had enough?

She covered the infiltration, the challenge, the fight, in as simple details as possible. T'Sai listened without comment until J'Mara got to the point where Vuron grabbed Talamak's face, forcing the councilman's gaze away from J'Mara's efforts to free the ambassador. The way she lifted her hand, the minute lines furrowing between her eyebrows. Recognition. Horror. As much as those damn computers showed horror.

She asked for clarification, but J'Mara already knew. He'd melded with the councilman.

"Kae'at k'lasa," Doctor T'Sai whispered.

"What does that mean?"

She chewed over it a moment, before meeting J'Mara's eyes. "Rape of the mind, General. For there is no chance that Lord Talamak permitted such."

"I take it from your tone that this is a terrible crime."

"One might argue that it is worse than murder."

"He gave his life in honorable combat. Gave us the time needed to get those under his protection to safety. He has his place among the honored dead. You can not take that from him."

T'Sai stared at her joined hands again. "It is not my place to judge what your kind think of as honorable."

_And yet you do it so well._

J'Mara heaved herself upright. Glared down at the insufferable old crone.

"If it is as I assume, then Vuron might have gained some knowledge, before the spear took him. Did he open up the bond, at the end?"

That wound received a fresh tear. J'Mara rubbed at her chest again. _Becoming a nervous tick now._

"There was not time, I suppose. Sit again. I will see if there's anything I can do to seal it completely. The probability is much higher, since we previously closed off the majority of the bond. If he didn't open it up again at the end, your mind shouldn't be too-"

The door closed between them with it's usual, quiet hiss of air.

If there was any chance, any at all, she would not let the crone take that away from her.

_Wait for me on the great ship,_ J'Mara thought, as loudly as she could. _We'll travel the river together._


End file.
